Jenna joined Bree and Annie in the race to the driveway. It had been too long since she’d seen the twins, and even though Kyrie owned Brews and Blues—meaning that the two of them were in frequent contact—there was a world of difference between updating the boss on the daily report and dishing with her sister about her wedding plans. Add in Paige’s upcoming move across the pond, and yeah. Sister time was something to be cherished.
Aunt Margie reached the car first, thanks to both her pole position in the garden and her impressive speed walking abilities, but even she knew the rule: Neenee got first hugs. When Jenna reached the driveway, both twins were already in their mother’s arms, laughing over something that someone—probably Paige—had said.
God, she loved her family.
Aunt Margie broke into the hugfest, setting off a flurry of embraces and squeals and exclamations over weight lost and gained, hair cut and lightened, and the possible reasons for the red marks on Paige’s neck. The whole chattering mass rolled out of the driveway, into the slightly sagging Victorian, and out to the porch.
“I know you’re all curious about why I dragged you here tonight,” Neenee said from the head of the table. “And I’m going to tell you everything. But right now, I want to have a fun meal with all of you, so I’ll say this: no one is sick, no one is dying, no one is in trouble. You can all keep breathing. So let’s eat.”
Jenna caught Bree’s eye. Bree gave a tiny nod. Jenna didn’t need to be able to read her sister’s mind to know that Bree was thinking the same thing she was thinking:
Dad.
Not that any of them would call him Dad. Not after what he did. It took a special breed of scum to fake his own death in order to avoid going to jail, and Jenna, at least, was pretty sure that even algae ranked higher on the Parental Awesomeness scale than Robert Elias ever would.
But she had long ago learned how to block him from her mind. It was a gorgeous summer night, filled with the scent of late-blooming lilacs and the sound of her sisters’ laughter. Neenee was right. Joy first, unpleasantness in its time.
An hour or so later, dinner was long over but the group remained around the table, talking about everything and nothing while sipping the lemonade Margie had spiked with an expert hand. All the sisters were staying at the house tonight—Neenee’s orders—so there was nothing pushing anyone to leave. Or move. Or hold back.
At least, not until Neenee returned from a trip to the bathroom with a paper in one hand and a bottle of Scotch in the other.
Reckoning time.
“Girls, I hate to be Debbie Downer, but there’s some news I need to share.” Neenee opened the bottle, helped herself to a hefty slug, and passed it to Margie.
“One glug or two?” Margie asked.
Neenee eyed the paper. “You know what? I think this at least a two-fer. We might even need tumblers.”
“Uh, Mom,” Annie said, “not that I want to tell you what to do or anything, but if there’s a problem, maybe we should face it with, you know, clear heads.”
As one, the remaining sisters pulled back and squinted in her direction.
“Or maybe not.” Annie chugged the last of her lemonade, grabbed the bottle from Margie and poured herself a healthy serving.
One by one, the sisters followed suit. Jenna eyed the golden liquid in her glass and wrinkled her nose. She was definitely more of a vodka gal. Vodka had been her buddy for a long time. Vodka was the ultimate comfort drink, sliding in unnoticed, giving heat but not demanding attention. It was so easy to forget when drinking vodka.
Yeah. Probably better that she be drinking yucky Scotch.
Neenee raised her glass, which held a rather alarming amount of booze for someone who was a mother. So much for good examples.
“Here’s to us, ladies. Drink up.”
One by one, they obliged. Mostly, Jenna knew, because they were well aware that Neenee wouldn’t tell them what was wrong until they had all imbibed.
As soon as the last glass hit the table, Neenee lifted the paper.
“This is from your father.”
Oh, shit.
“Neenee,” she read, swaying slightly from side to side as if rocking an invisible baby. “You asked me to keep you informed as to my whereabouts and legal standing before you could hear it on the news or be ambushed by reporters. Therefore, I’m letting you know that the end of my time at the transitional house is drawing to a close. As of mid-June, I will be a free man once again.” Her hand shook ever so slightly. “And I have decided that the best place to begin again is where my life started the first time around. Back in Calypso Falls.”
Kris Fletcher is the author of the Calypso Falls novels, including the forthcoming Life of the Party. She writes about small towns, big families, and love that grows despite them.
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The Bridesmaid and the Bachelor Page 11